


Family Ties

by pipisafoat



Series: Harry Granger [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus, Canonical Child Abuse, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Dumbledore Being a Dick, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Manipulative Dumbledore, Pre-Series, unexpected squib character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-16 01:20:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5807749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipisafoat/pseuds/pipisafoat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A boy, ostracized for reasons his family never quite explains. A girl, ostracized for being the new kid in school and having a penchant for reading at recess. Two dentists who see a problem they can fix.</p><p> </p><p>This fic contains the somewhat-advertised scene of Albus Dumbledore getting poked in the chest repeatedly.</p><p>(part 1 of who knows how many parts. each installation in the series will end such that there aren't too many loose ends hanging if I don't write more. there is no posting schedule regarding future parts.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family Ties

**Author's Note:**

> Content Notes: explicit references to child neglect and abuse (of all types bar sexual). No scenes depict the abuse from the POV of the abuser or abused child, but there is a scene with physical abuse visually witnessed from afar. References to abuse throughout.
> 
> Thanks to my sister Pam for the beta and title assist, even though she's really waiting for a different fic from me!  
> Additional shoutout to kaberett for being a wonderful British-things resource and encouragement to me!  
> Extra appreciation to percygranger, blueraccoon, and everyone else in the GYWO chat for support!

Hermione Granger raises her hand as everyone else is stuffing papers away and jostling happily towards the classroom door. She’s biting her lower lip nervously as the teacher takes a moment to notice her. Nothing in the school rules say this isn’t allowed, but each teacher has their own classroom rules that aren’t written down in a book for her to read ahead of time.

“Yes, Hermione?"

“Mrs. Lubar, may I go to the library during recess?"

The teacher actually looks relieved at this question. “Why, of course you may! In fact, this one was going to go as well.” She indicates with a wave of her hand a small boy wearing absurdly large clothing. “He’s learned the way, I think, so you can just go with him. Do be sure to keep an eye on him, dear."

Hermione smiles politely and thanks Mrs. Lubar, finally packing away her books as the teacher leads the rest of the children out of the room and presumably outside. She’s just pulled out her To Read list when she notices a pair of shoes in front of her and looks up to find the small boy pointed out by her teacher standing there.

“Here’s your library pass,” the boy says so quietly it’s nearly a whisper, holding a laminated square of paper out to her almost cautiously and not looking at her at all. She takes it and looks curiously at him.

“I’m Hermione."

He nods. “I know. Mrs. Lubar introduced you to the class this morning. And you told us all about yourself. How you like books and shepherd’s pie and otters. Hermione Granger."

She flushes slightly at the reminder. “Yes, that’s right. I forgot, sorry.” After a short silence, she decides to cut straight to her question, even if it does feel a little bit rude. "What’s your name?"

“Harry Potter,” he tells her, still looking at the ground.

“Why does Mrs. Lubar say I need to keep an eye on you, Harry Potter?"

Hermione can see him blink at that, but he doesn’t really react otherwise. “I won’t get you in trouble. Just say the freak did it and you tried to stop it. It works for everyone."

She’s silent as she follows him out of the classroom and down the hall. She’s silent as the librarian greets her warmly and helps her find the fantasy section. She’s silent as that same librarian practically spits at Harry Potter to stay where she can see him and stay out of trouble.

She stops being silent as he does what the librarian says and sits at a table without even a book. “Harry, did you want to read something while we’re here? Check anything out?"

The librarian laughs. “I’m sorry, Hermione, didn’t they tell you? He can barely read. I would be afraid to let him touch my books in case he did something to them. I know he managed to bring you to the library, but he’s just not going to do anything useful, and he certainly hasn’t earned permission to check out books."

“What do I need to do to earn permission to check out books?"

“You, dear?” The librarian smiles at her, so sweetly that it almost makes her doubt the way she’d seen her treat Harry. “You don’t need to earn permission. I trust you’ll take good care of them."

Hermione nods, promises that she will, and then takes a deep breath. “If I take responsibility for the books, can I help Harry read something in the library?"

The librarian looks at her skeptically but gives her permission to do so after several minutes of cajoling from Hermione and warnings from the librarian not to get her hopes up on a delinquent idiot.

Hermione sits down hard at the same table as Harry as soon as the librarian returns to her office. “Do you want to learn how to read better?” she asks him, aware that her voice is full of residual anger from the previous conversation. She closes her eyes and breathes for a moment, then opens them and smiles at him. “I’m sorry. I’m upset with her, not you. I’ll help you if you want me to."

Harry is sitting rigidly in his chair, staring at her with his mouth hanging open. It seems to take him almost a full minute to pull himself together enough to even attempt to reply, and then there are several false starts before he manages complete sentences. “I can read pretty good,” he says quietly, still holding eye contact to Hermione’s delight. “I’m not allowed to take books out because they get messed up in the house."

“Do you ruin the books?” she asks him, scandalized by the very idea.

“No!” He hesitates, and then elaborates. “It’s always my fault, but I don’t mean to. I shouldn’t take books home. I just wish I could read them sometimes in class or while I wait for Aunt Petunia to pick us up from school, but I don’t have anywhere to put them except home if I do that."

Hermione chews on her lower lip again. She doesn’t really know him, and this is _library privileges_ she’s risking, but…. “What if I wait with you after school and then took the books home with me?"

He looks hopefully at her for a brief moment before dropping his gaze again. “I still can’t check them out. I don’t want to get in trouble if you do it for me."

“You won’t get in trouble,” she reassures him. “After all, I’ll be the one checking them out in my own name. And I won’t get mad unless you do something to the books on purpose."

Harry nods, still looking at the floor. “Tell her you need me to hold the books you want to check out. She’ll let me help you if you’re watching me the whole time I have a book. I can read whatever book you aren’t reading."

“You’ll pick out your own books to read,” she orders him, getting up from the table to ask the librarian just as Harry told her.

They establish a routine over the next week: they go to the library and check out books for both of them one day and spend the next few days reading them outside during recess under a tree where the teachers can keep an eye on Harry without noticing that he’s reading. Hermione isn’t sure why this is so important, but it matters to him, so she helps him with it. They wait together for Harry’s aunt to pick him and his cousin up after school, sometimes causing Hermione’s own parents to wait in the parking lot until Harry is gone for the day. She arrives early to school, both to help her parents’ schedule with their dental office and to meet Harry for more reading together before classes. When they’ve run through the books they have, they return to the library together to collect a new set.

Hermione pretends to be tutoring Harry after he tells the other children in their class that’s why she spends so much time with him. He tells them that she has to and that she’s being paid for it, and because she established herself as the smartest student in the class by the end of her first week in the school, all of the other students and even the teachers believe him. Really, it’s Harry who spends time teaching her, but she doesn’t learn from a book.

“That boy is Piers Polkiss. He’s one of Dudley’s gang. They’re mean to everyone, but I heard him telling Dudley yesterday that he wants to teach you a lesson you won’t learn in school."

“You mean he wants to beat me up."

“Yeah. But the thing about Piers is that if he’s within sight of his house or the neighbors on either side, he won’t do anything. He’s number 7 Wisteria Walk, by the walk. And he’s only ever on his street, my street - that’s Privet Drive - with Dudley, or in the park on the corner of the two. So if you just stay away from there or make sure to run to right in front of his house, you’ll be okay."

“Does he actually beat people up, or does he just talk about it?"

“He does it. Well, usually he and Franklin hold you still while Dudley beats you up, but it’s the same thing. And I’ve seen Thomas Jackson - there, with the football - hanging out with Dudley’s gang recently, so probably he and Franklin will be the holders soon while Dudley and Piers take it in turns to punch you."

“How do you know so much about them? You’re not in their gang, I know it."

“No, but they like to try to punch me."

The bell rings just there in that conversation, but Hermione spends the rest of that day staring at Harry in disbelief and at Piers in outrage. If Dudley, Franklin, or Thomas were in their class, she’d be glaring at them as well, but they’re all in with Mrs. Smith and Mr. Jones.

Other days, they do their homework together while they wait for their families to pick them up. Hermione watches one day in her second month as Harry solves the math problems on a piece of scrap paper and then writes his answers on the actual worksheet Mrs. Lubar gave them. The first time she notices that his writing is significantly sloppier on the worksheet, she points it out to him and, when he refuses to fix it, snatches the scrap paper from his hand.

“Harry, this is all right."

“Good. I thought it was, but it’s always good to have a second opinion."

“But your grades are terrible!"

“I know."

“You are currently on the very edge of failing maths, but you’ve just completed all the homework correctly and even answered the bonus questions."

“I know."

She takes the worksheet from him, too. “You’ve written almost entirely wrong answers on here."

“I know."

“And you ignored the bonus questions!"

“Hermione, I know."

“But why? You can do the work! I see right here that you can do the work! You’re plenty smart, Harry. Why are you hiding that from the teachers?"

There’s no answer, but he carefully slides the papers from her grasp and rips the correct answers to tiny, unreadable shreds. “I’ll see you tomorrow."

“You don’t even turn anything in half the time!” she shouts to his back, and he pauses, turns just long enough to reply.

“I don’t often have time to do homework at home."

He disappears into his aunt’s car a moment later, and Hermione watches as the woman turns around and speaks to him before they move away. His head collides with the window as soon as his aunt turns to the front again, loudly enough that Hermione can hear it from where she’s sitting, and then she sees Dudley Dursley laughing from his place beside Harry in the back seat.

She’s crying when she gets into the car with her mother two and a half minutes later.

In retrospect, she really should have known that her mother wasn’t going to let go of anything that made her daughter cry at school, not less than a month after they uprooted their entire lives and moved house and practice just so Hermione could attend a different school where she wasn’t bullied, where she didn’t come home from school every day crying. She really should have known that her mother wasn’t going to let go of the word “friend” when Hermione had never used it to describe a real person in connection with her own self. And she really, really should have known that her mother would never drop the subject when Hermione mentioned “friend” and “hurt” and “his own family” all together in the same sentence, especially when the next sentence was “And I think they’re why he tries not to get good grades!” It’s really this last, this idea that Harry is trying to get _bad_ grades rather than just not trying to get good grades, that really gets to Hermione the most.

The next day at school, Harry has bruises on both sides of his face. Hermione very carefully pretends not to notice until they’re under their tree at recess.

“You saw Dudley push me into the window before we drove away yesterday,” Harry says quietly.

“That was only one side of your face."

“I got in trouble later."

“And ended up with a bruise on your face?"

Harry shrugs. “Yeah. I really messed up, and then I talked back. I don’t really learn the important things unless they help me."

“They hurt you, Harry!"

He meets her eyes for the first time that day. “No, Hermione, they’re helping me learn and act better. Please don’t try to make it sound like they’re bad for me. They’re really not, okay?"

She hesitantly agrees to drop that subject, but she immediately brings the conversation back a bit. “So what did you get in trouble for?"

“You mean you don’t know?"

“How would I know?"

Harry frowns at her. “I asked you for help, and your mum called Aunt Petunia."

“You got in trouble for my mother calling your aunt?"

“No! I got in trouble for letting you think things weren’t okay. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon explained it to me. I did something that made you think I wasn’t okay at home when I really am, and you told your mother you were worried, and she called Aunt Petunia. It’s not your fault, or your mum’s. I’m the one who messed up. And then I talked back when I told them I didn’t mean to do it, but that doesn’t matter. I still messed up, even if I didn’t do it on purpose, and I won’t learn any better unless they help me correct myself even if I don’t do it wrong on purpose."

Hermione agrees that this logic makes sense, and since she’s already agreed not to talk about thinking his relatives are overreacting a bit in his punishment, there’s nothing else to talk about. She pulls out their books and hands one over to him. It’s not until they’re standing up to go back inside from recess that she thinks of another question.

“Harry, can I still talk to Mum about you sometimes if I want to? It won’t get you in trouble?"

He shakes his head. “Only if I make you think there’s something wrong. You can tell your mum anything about me, just make sure she knows that nothing’s wrong, okay?"

She beams at him. “Okay. I just want to keep telling her about my friend and the books we’re reading together."

He smiles back at her, the kind of smile that takes a long time to really show up on his face. It’s really the only kind of smile she’s ever seen from him except for forced smiles. “Friend?"

“Well, I thought we were friends.” Her own smile falters some.

“Oh. I mean, yeah, sure! I just haven’t really had a friend before, because I don’t do well in school and because Dudley’s friends don’t like me."

She shrugs and replies, “Well, they wouldn’t like me even if I weren’t friends with you, so we can be each other’s first friend."

Her mum smiles and tells her how pleased she is when Hermione shares this conversation over dinner, but Hermione can see that the smile isn’t like Harry’s and isn’t like her mum’s normal smile. It’s on her lips but not in her eyes.

The next morning, on the day that marks the start of Hermione’s second month in her new school, her mum tells her that Harry will be coming home with them after school and staying for dinner. Her dad will be there as soon as school ends, just like he did at her old school and when she first started this one, to pick them both up. Since Harry’s coming with her, they don't need to stay until his aunt arrives, so she just grins at her mum and flings her arms around her in a huge hug before kissing her on the cheek and skipping in to school.

* * *

Emily Granger looks up at the sound of the car pulling into her driveway and sets her book on the end table, bookmark securely in place. She opens the front door of the house just in time to see a messy-haired boy nearly fall out of Sam’s car before recovering his footing. Hermione follows the boy out and grabs his hand when he hesitates on the front walk. “Hi, Mum!"

Emily smiles at her daughter. “Hi, Hermione. Are you two hungry?”

Hermione releases the boy’s hand and launches herself at her mother for a hug. “I’d love a snack, Mum!” She suddenly pulls back from the hug, a faint blush on her cheeks. “This is Harry Potter. Harry, this is my mum.” The boy doesn’t look up from the threshold as he mumbles a soft hello.

“Welcome to our house, Harry. You can call me Mrs. Granger or Emily, whichever you prefer. Come on, you can come inside.” She reaches down to help Hermione out of her coat, subtly guiding her to the side of the entrance hall to give Harry and Sam enough room to come inside more easily. Sam maneuvers the door shut and opens the closet.

“It’s okay, Harry,” Hermione’s saying softly. “She’s really nice, too. Here, we usually leave our shoes by the front door, and we hang coats in this closet."

“You can keep your coat on if you like, though,” Sam interjects, and Emily trades a look with her husband. He’s clearly noticed Harry’s slight shivers as well. When the boy looks hesitant and almost confused, Sam smiles down at him. “In fact, I’m still a bit chilly from being outside, so I think I’ll keep mine on for now. I can always hang it in the closet later. If you decide to hang yours up at any point, you can just take any empty hanger."

Harry nods, then removes his shoes and lines them up beside Hermione’s. Emily watches the precision he puts into the simple task, not only lining his own shoes up perfectly straight but neatening the others as well. It reminds her of a roommate in dental school, before her psychiatrist found a good medicine for her obsessive-compulsive disorder. Emily makes a small mental note to see if it’s affecting his everyday life and talking to the school psychologist if necessary. It’s likely most of the adults in his life wouldn’t notice the signs to be able to help him if it is a problem.

“Come on, Harry! Let’s see what we can find for a snack.” Hermione takes her book bag from her father as she tugs Harry by the hand towards the kitchen, and he hastily grabs his own bag from the floor at his feet as he follows her. “We baked biscuits last night, so there are some of those for sure, but we should have something healthy, too."

“There are fresh vegetables in the fridge,” Emily calls after the children, then turns to her husband. “That coat is not warm enough for a day like today,” she observes quietly.

“No, it’s not, but they may be having financial difficulties. Judging by his clothes and shoes, at least. We should look at Hermione’s old clothes - we haven’t donated the most recent box, have we? - and see if there are any things he might fit that aren’t too girly."

Emily reaches out and kisses Sam on the cheek. “Good idea. So how was the drive?"

“Same old drive,” he says with a faint smile. “Hermione helped Harry figure out the seat belt and then chattered the whole way home about the books they got from the library today. Apparently Harry didn’t want to go out to recess, so they returned the ones they’ve finished and got a few more."

Emily laughs. “That’s my girl. What did Harry have to say about her story?"

“Nothing much. He just watched out the window like he was trying to figure out where we were the entire drive. He said hello, and he whispered to Hermione a couple times, but that’s it. He seems a bit shy."

“And not terribly graceful getting out of the car."

Sam’s brow furrows at this observation. “He didn’t undo his seatbelt. Hermione had to unlatch it for him when he was halfway out. I don’t think his guardians make him wear one, but he didn’t fuss at all about wearing one in our car."

“Mum!” Hermione interrupts loudly from the kitchen.

She leans in and kisses Sam again. “The children await."

“I’ll be in my study for a bit. I’d like to finish up this course before dinner so I can be done with my professional development for the year."

As Emily approaches the kitchen, she hears Harry’s voice not mumbling for the first time. It’s a pleasant voice; she hopes to get him more comfortable with the whole family so she can hear it more often. “I don’t want to mess up your routine. We can do our homework with the snack."

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” Emily says, smiling down at the kids. “I have a little bit of paperwork to do. Would you like me to join you?"

Hermione scoffs. “Mum, you know I don’t need help with my homework, but I don’t mind if you sit at the table and do your own homework. I mean, if Harry’s okay with it."

“It’s fine,” Harry mumbles, and Emily sighs inwardly. Still, she could make out each word this time, so it counts as progress.

“Well, don’t worry. I don’t have much to do, so I’ll be out of your way before long.” She pulls a third plate from the cabinet and stacks her own vegetables and biscuits on it before following the pair to the dining room table. “If you do need help, though, I am here."

She spends the next twenty minutes watching them more than working. Harry seems to keep pace with Hermione and finish each assignment as she does, which is rare. When Hermione attended an after-school program in London, she was always the first done with her homework. The most interesting part comes when they read the history book, though.

“No, silly, that was 1553, not 1555!"

Harry shakes his head at Hermione. “Close enough. Besides, the point isn’t the date."

“The date is very important! You have to know what order things happen in."

“I might not remember the exact year, but I know the order, and I know the reason we learn about it. Do you know why they’re teaching us about the Tudors’ time ruling England?"

Hermione huffs. “Because it’s a part of history."

“True, but why does it matter that we know about it?"

“It’s a part of history! It’s former rulers of our country, so we have to know about it!"

“We’ve had other rulers. Why does this family matter so much?"

Hermione’s quiet for a moment, then she sighs. “There were a lot of them in a row? They were the last ones to have France sort of be a part of Britain?"

“That’s only part of it. They did a lot of good things for the country, like those changes to the Church of England and having the first queen to rule. And I think later on we’ll see what they did for the country that made it more powerful and less powerful. We can see what works and what doesn’t work and then when we’re older, when you’re Prime Minister, you’ll know how to make the best decisions to make us the most powerful again."

Hermione chews on her lip for a moment, then grins. “You really think I’ll be Prime Minister?"

Harry grins back. “Not if you don’t start figuring out why they teach what they teach."

“Fine, Mister Smart Thing. But they test us on the date, so we need to learn that, too.” Hermione catches Emily’s gaze finally and blushes slightly. “Right, Mum?"

Emily smiles gently. “It is important to do well on your tests, because that helps you get into the best schools later, but I don’t remember the dates anymore. Once you’re an adult, you’ll care a lot more about the things Harry talked about. Especially if you’re Prime Minister!” Hermione laughs. “You might want to keep Harry on your staff to remind you about history in case you forget everything but the dates,” she teases gently, and Hermione blushes deeper.

“Muuuum!”

“What do you think, Harry? Would you work for Prime Minister Hermione Granger?"

Harry grins at Emily, meeting her eyes for the first time. “You bet I would!” He suddenly looks down, color draining from his face, and Emily fights to keep a concerned frown off her face.

“There you go, Hermione. Your first loyal staffer. The one who can remind you to see the bigger picture. You’re already on your way to Downing Street!"

Hermione laughs again and elbows Harry gently. “You don’t have to agree with every silly thing my mum says, you know!” she hisses, plenty loud for Emily to hear. “Especially when she talks about what I’ll do as a grown-up!"

Harry glances at Hermione very briefly, then seems to get back his courage and meets her eyes. “I said it first, remember? She was the one agreeing with me. But don’t worry. I’ll be your friend as long as you want me, even if you don’t become the Prime Minister."

Hermione blushes, thanks him, and returns the promise of friendship, and the two put away their history books and turn to their maths homework.

“Well, I think it’s about time to start dinner.” Emily straightens her papers and stands to head for the kitchen, but she’s halted by Harry jumping to his feet. “Is something the matter, Harry?"

“No, Mrs. Granger. I’m ready to start on dinner. What should I do?"

She hesitates, notices his tense posture and the way his eyes seem to be trained on her chin - high enough that he isn’t ignoring her, but low enough that she can’t quite read them. “You should finish your homework, dear."

“It’s okay. You said it’s time to start dinner. I’m ready. Just tell me what we’re having and I can start."

“Oh, Harry, I’ll make dinner. You just finish up your homework and then play with Hermione. Have fun.” She reaches out without thinking, intending to ruffle his hair playfully, but he flinches sharply away from her, then flinches a second time and returns to his original position.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Granger. I shouldn’t have pulled away from you. You can help me remember not to do that."

Hermione jumps up from her seat and wraps her arms around Harry from behind. “Oh, no, Harry! Mum doesn’t do that! Dad doesn’t either!” she almost yells, and Emily can hear Sam coming down the stairs at the sudden noise.

Harry shrugs slightly, tension still in his frame, not returning her hug. “You’re better than I am. It’s okay, really. I need to learn."

“What do you need to learn?” Emily asks, carefully not looking to the doorway. She can see that Sam is there, but he’s waiting just outside, where Harry can’t see him, hesitant to intrude on the scene.

“I can’t remember all the rules when they tell me, and I don’t always control my body right. They have to help me learn it."

“Who?"

Harry’s eyes slide to the floor. “Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon mostly, but I know they tell my teachers and everyone at the school that they can help me learn. They would be happy if you helped me learn, too."

“And how do they help you learn?” It takes all her effort to keep her voice even and controlled as she asks, but the answer overwhelms her.

“They have to hit me when they tell me so I can remember it easier."

Emily stuffs her fist in her mouth and bites hard to keep from saying anything in front of the children. She notices Hermione’s gasp and the way her hug tightens around her friend, and she sees Sam move to her side and envelop her in their own hug. “It’s okay,” he murmurs into her ear, too low for Harry to hear. “We won’t do it to him, you know we won’t, and there’s no way we’re letting them do it again, either.” She nods, pulls her fist out of her mouth before she breaks the skin, and turns her head into his chest. Sam squeezes her tighter and turns to Harry. “We have different rules in our house than your aunt and uncle do in theirs,” he starts slowly. Emily doesn’t hear a response from the children, but Sam continues after a short moment. “In this house, nobody hits anybody else for any reason. We don’t even hit insects or spiders. Okay?” There’s another pause. “Harry, can you promise me that you won’t hit anyone in this house?"

“I don’t hit anywhere!” Harry says, sounding almost indignant, and Emily pulls out of her husband’s arms to see the boy standing with Hermione pushed to an arm’s length, his hands on his hips, glaring at Sam. “I know what they say, but that part is wrong! I don’t hurt people! I don’t chase dogs and I don’t skin cats and I don’t touch girls wrong, either! I’m slow at learning and I might be a bad person, but I don’t hurt anyone!"

“That’s good,” Sam replies, tone even and soothing. “None of us do those things, either. I’m going to promise you that I will never hit you or anyone else, even if we’re not in the house."

“I promise the same thing,” Emily adds when she sees the tiniest bit of tension flow out of Harry at the first promise.

“Oh, Harry, I wouldn’t hurt you!” Hermione says, tears running down her cheeks as she reaches out and takes Harry’s hand again. “I promise it, too!"

He nods, then looks back down at the floor, sudden defiance gone before Emily can even blink. “I know. You don’t have to promise. I know. But I promise, too. I won’t hit anyone in the house, and I won’t hit any of you anywhere else. I won’t hit anyone anywhere. Ever."

“Thank you,” Sam says into the silence that follows. “That’s a good promise for all of us to make. Are there any other promises we should make?"

Harry shrugs. Hermione bites her lip, then nods. “I want us to promise we won’t try to hide anything from each other."

Emily smiles at her daughter, knowing that it’s a shaky smile at best. “That’s a good one, Hermione. I promise I won’t hide anything from any of you, unless it’s something like a Christmas or birthday present."

“I promise to only hide good surprises like presents,” Sam agrees.

“Yeah, presents don’t count,” Hermione says with a real smile at last. “I promise it, too."

There’s a long silence before Harry looks up and into Hermione’s face. “Am I supposed to say it, too?"

“Only if you really mean it and will try to keep your promise,” Emily replies. “It’s okay if you don’t promise it now."

He nods, then tugs Hermione back a couple of paces until he’s sitting in his chair again. “I should do my maths if you really don’t want me in the kitchen."

“You’re welcome to come and join me when your homework is done,” Emily says slowly, “but you don’t have to. And if you come in there, you don’t have to help, but if you really want to, I will let you."

Silence meets this, and she reluctantly turns away from the children as Hermione picks up her pencil again and starts whispering about the assignment to Harry. She pulls out of her husband’s arms and cocks her head towards the kitchen, relieved when he nods and follows her in there.

“Thank you,” she breathes, throwing herself back into his arms as soon as they’re out of sight of the dining room table. “I couldn’t … I didn’t know how…."

“It’s okay,” he replies, just as softly. “I wouldn’t have known how to handle the start of that. That’s why we make a good team."

“What are we going to do?"

Sam sighs heavily. “I’m going to call his guardians and ask them if he can stay overnight. You’re going to cook something wonderful. We’re going to eat dinner and keep our promises. After that … well, we’ll figure it out. One step at a time."

Emily draws back and pushes a smile and a soft laugh to the front. “One step at a time, says the man who just listed three steps."

“Oh, shut it.” He swats her bottom gently and kisses her. “Are you okay?"

“No, not really. But I can do dinner and the rest of the evening. You get back to your work."

He nods. “I’m going to call the Dursleys first. Let me know if you need me. I can always come watch you work and remember our honeymoon, when you pranced around the kitchen wearing—"

“Sam!” Emily feels a blush rising in her face, and she swats at his arm. “There are children right out there!"

“I’ve heard about the fancy apron from your honeymoon,” Hermione calls from the dining room, “but you’ve never shown me why it’s so special."

She feels like her face is going to catch on fire. “Sam!” she chastises louder. “Go! Get out of here! Do something that doesn’t embarrass me and is kid-friendly!"

He grins down at her. “Feel better now though, don’t you?"

“Out!” she insists, pushing him towards the kitchen door. “I have work to do, you annoying man!"

Eating dinner is a less stressful affair than her initial attempt at preparing it, thankfully. Harry carries the shepherd’s pie proudly to the table, which is set extremely neatly, even having napkins folded to look like flowers. Sam dishes for everyone, Hermione prays over the food, and Emily gently tells Harry about their rules of talking over the meal but not with their mouths full. For his part, Harry seems confused when he’s served but gamely manages the meal without too much concern necessary from either of the adults. Emily watches how careful he is with his silverware, never clinking it against the plate or letting the food-stained part touch the tablecloth. The way he keeps glancing at her and at Sam makes her revise her earlier assumption of OCD to fear of trouble if he makes the slightest noise or mess. Still, there are no more outbursts or concerns about helping him _learn_ , so she lets it go for the time being. She also lets go of her anger when Harry glances almost wistfully at the serving dish without asking for more; she just scoops up another helping for him without asking if he’d like it. One step at a time, she reminds herself in the face of his surprise at the second serving on his plate, smiling at Sam when she sees him noticing the same behaviors. Hermione appears blissfully ignorant of the whole thing, leading Harry through a discussion of what they’d learned from their science homework that afternoon.

Sam is, as usual, the last to clean his plate. He lets out his customary sigh of sated appreciation for the food, leans back in his chair, and sets his silverware down. Harry pops up from his place and starts gathering everyone’s empty dishes. Emily lets that go, too, instead raising an eyebrow at her daughter. “Are you planning to let Harry do your chores by himself?” she asks gently, and Hermione flushes a little bit.

“No! Sorry, Mum. Sorry, Harry.” She follows him into the kitchen with the leftover food for the fridge, and Emily closes her eyes in borderline relief at having the children out of the room.

Sam’s hand curls around her wrist. “Would you rather I tell him he’s staying the night, or is that something you’d like to do?"

“Mm, you,” she replies without opening her eyes. “Any trouble on that front?"

“None. They agreed with no questions asked, though—“

After a long silence, she cracks her eyes open and turns to face him. His eyes have gone distant and unfocused, brow furrowed, mouth downturned. “Though?"

“Harry was right about them wanting us to … you know."

She feels the bile rise in her throat and swallows hard. “I regret to inform them that we will be letting them down on that count."

“I didn’t feel the need to explain that at the time."

“No, I wouldn’t have, either,” she agrees. Petunia Dursley is lucky she doesn’t feel the need to be involved in her nephew’s class, as Emily is certain she’d become a violent person if ever faced with that woman. If anyone ever needed physical help learning … well, no, Emily can’t see herself hitting even someone who abuses children.

Harry doesn’t show any reaction to the news that he’ll be staying overnight beyond expressing shock at how large their guest room is and how large the bed inside it is. Sam laughs and shows him their king sized bed and even larger master suite, but Harry shrugs at it. “Yeah, but you’re the adults, and you’re good. Your bed has to be big."

Emily pushes away the thoughts that rise from the _you’re good_ statement. “Well, Harry, do your aunt and uncle have a guest room?"

“Aunt Marge stays in it when she visits.” His eyes widen. “Oh! Yeah, it has a big bed, too. I think I understand now."

“My bed isn’t that big,” Hermione offers. “Do you want to see my room?"

Harry seems to be almost magnetically attracted to the wall of bookcases and accompanying reading chair. He smiles at Hermione, so openly and honestly that it almost breaks Emily’s heart. “I love this! I wish I deserved something like this, but there wouldn’t be any place to put it in my cupboard even if I did."

“Well, silly, that’s why you put it in your room, not in a closet,” Hermione retorts, and Harry nods, but his eyes are locked down again. Emily forces a smile onto her face as she gestures towards Hermione’s bed.

“See, Harry? Hermione doesn’t have a large bed. The guest room bed is so big because sometimes two adults come to visit and sleep in the bed together."

Harry nods again, then mumbles just loudly and clearly enough for Emily to make out, “It’s still bigger than my bed."

It’s a single bed. The only smaller sized beds are made for toddlers or babies and definitely too small for even an undersized boy like Harry. She spends the next hour mulling that over even as she and Sam help Harry go through Hermione’s old clothes for something suitable to wear to sleep and to school the next day. If he hadn’t mentioned the guest room, she’d think the Dursleys simply couldn’t afford to upgrade from the toddler bed as Harry grew, but surely he could sleep in the guest bed when there weren’t any guests. For that matter, if their house is large enough for a guest room, couldn’t they just sell it, move somewhere smaller, and provide appropriate beds and clothing? Because they always pick up Hermione late, after Harry has left school, she doesn’t know if his cousin dresses the same way. There’s probably some way to volunteer at the school one day and suss out who he is, see what he has to say about the state of Harry’s clothes and Harry’s fear and the apparently tiny mattress Harry sleeps on. If it’s as bad for him as it is for Harry, what is she going to do?

She drops that idea to the back of her mind as she tucks Harry into the full-sized bed. “I’m glad you’re here, Harry. I enjoyed meeting you, and I want to keep on getting to know you."

His sleepy eyes are more open than they have been since the moment in Hermione’s room. “This bed is nice, Mrs. Granger. It isn’t lumpy at all."

“Good.” She starts to reach for him, to smooth his hair down, but checks the movement. “Harry, can I touch your head? Gently, like I do Hermione’s?” He’s had plenty of opportunity to watch the casual affection in their family today, but she won’t touch him without his permission. Not until he’s ready and willing to give her a chance.

“I don’t like it,” he murmurs back, eyes already drifting closed. “My face still hurts from the last time someone touched me."

Anger burns in her, and she shoves it to the back of her mind to keep her soft smile genuine. “Okay. If you need anything, just knock on my and Sam’s door, okay?"

“I’m allowed to get up? Like for the toilet?"

“Of course you are, Harry. Try to sleep, but you may get up if you need to."

“Okay.” His eyes close once again, and this time they don’t struggle open again. She can tell by his breathing that he’s still fighting to stay awake, and she’s fairly certain he won’t give in until he’s alone.

“Goodnight, Harry."

“Night,” he answers, and she fights every instinct in her body not to pat his shoulder or smooth the covers as she rises and makes her way out of the room. His eyes come open enough to watch her as she leaves and shuts the door behind her, and the fear in them is enough for her to sink to the floor in the blessedly empty hall, tears finally streaking down her cheeks without the constraint of putting on a happy face for the children. She’s not happy. Nothing about Harry’s situation makes her happy, except that he’s here in her house, in a real bed, hopefully starting to learn that not everyone is like the Dursleys.

They have to get him away from his family. She doesn’t see any other option. Harry Potter will become family if she has any say in the matter, and Emily Granger’s never been one to take no for an answer.

* * *

Josh Bellamy is the first to admit that he didn’t see a dentist until well into his adult years, but even with that delay, he’s no stranger to the way dentists try to have a conversation with their fingers jamming your jaw open. Sam Granger is no better or worse about that than any other dentist Josh has visited. He’s told Dr. Granger about his dogs (“Ey ah inaley earding ow oo say en I dish air ood!”), the never ending quest for a girlfriend (“no, oyrend.”), and his flossing habits (“sorry?”) when a new topic comes up, one that he’s never discussed at the dentist before.

“So, Josh, your file says you work with social care. I’ve got a few questions about that, if you don’t mind. And of course, if you decide it’s better I visit you at your office with the questions, I’ll make time to do that straight away, but if they’re simple enough to answer now, well, I’d just as soon save us both some time, yeah?"

Josh nods, wincing as Dr. Granger pokes the instrument into his gum with the sudden movement.

“Oh, sorry about that!” To his credit, Granger does sound sorry, and Josh has no trouble forgiving him with a magnanimous sort of grunt. “Do try not to move about while I’ve got this in your mouth. Anyway, so the social care. Do you work with children?"

He grunts a vaguely positive sound. Dentists must get extra training just on how to translate these noises into actual conversation, because Granger doesn’t pause for a second.

“Ah, excellent. You see, the questions I have involve children. About what you’d do if you got a report of a child being abused, but not an emergency that the police would have to come out right away."

Josh’s next series of grunts (“Oo oo owe a ooze isle?”) is effortlessly understood and responded to.

“No, Josh, I don’t know if I know an abused child or not for sure, right now. And of course, that worries me some - if he is being neglected and hurt, I want him to be safe, but if he isn’t, I don’t want him to be torn from his family just because I had a bad feeling. So would I need to find out something more before reporting my suspicions, or do you investigate before you take the child from the home?"

“Ee esahate. Eehor ow an ee esahate."

Granger nods and pulls the sharp instrument from Josh’s mouth. “Okay. So that would definitely be something I’d need to do at your office and not mine."

“Yes, that is the usual procedure.” Josh smirks a bit at Granger, but it fades quickly at the look of concern on the other man’s face. “What’s bothering you?"

“It’s just that … well, this boy … my daughter only has one friend, you know. Has only ever had him as a friend. He’s been to my house, and I care about him. And I care about Hermione. If his guardians are abusing him and he’s taken from them, would she be able to see him again? Could he come visit?"

Josh sighs. “I’m not sure. It all depends on the situation."

Granger nods and removes the covering from Josh’s chest. “I’m done with your exam,” he explains. “Look, I don’t know if this is done, but can we request that you handle the case? Because we know you?"

“You can request it, but I’m held to confidentiality standards. I couldn’t tell you any more than anyone else."

Granger nods again. “I know. It’s just … we know you. And maybe we could introduce you to him so he wouldn’t be afraid of you. It might help. That’s all I’m thinking."

“I would appreciate that,” Josh replies. He pushes himself up from the exam chair and reaches a hand to Dr. Granger to shake, but it isn’t taken.

“Would you come over for tea on Friday? He’ll be spending the weekend with us, and we were going to take him to a movie Saturday, so that might be a way to meet him and have it end with him staying with definitely friendly people so he doesn’t associate you with anything bad. If something bad is happening."

Josh is taken aback by the request. It’s never come up before in all his years of social care. He flips through his handbook mentally, then nods. “There’s nothing wrong with me having a meal with a family and their friend if there isn’t a case in progress for any of them, even if there is a case opened soon after."

“That settles it, then. Emily and I would love to have our friend Josh come over on Friday for tea. And you can meet our daughter, and her friend happens to be spending the weekend with us, so of course you would meet him as well. And because I know you’re a decent sort of chap, I’m sure you would tell us if anything felt … off … about anyone you met at our house."

Josh offers a faint smile. “Okay … Sam. Tomorrow evening. A night with friends is just the way to start off the weekend. Shall I bring anything? Maybe a nice wine for the adults and some ginger beer for the children?"

“Sounds good.” Dr. Granger - Sam - offers his hand, and Josh finally shakes it. “I’ll see you then."

Josh spends the next day and a half wondering exactly what he’s gotten into, what kind of relationship the Grangers have with this boy that they want to employ this level of cloak and dagger just to get his professional opinion on the kid’s home life. Then again, he was something of a misfit as a child, so he can understand wanting to keep one of apparently very few friends safe, happy, and close by.

He’s still pondering how to approach the kid - as a friend of his hosts or a potential abuse case? - as he knocks on the Grangers’ front door. Sam’s wife, his dentistry partner, Emma he thinks her name is, opens the door and greets him with a genuine smile. “Josh, welcome! Come inside, here. Let me hang your coat.” He ends up offering her the wine and ginger beer and handling the coat himself under her direction, leaving it and his shoes at the hall closet and following her to the kitchen where Sam awaits.

“Josh, I see you’ve met my lovely wife Emily once more,” the man greets him with a friendly handshake. Emily, right, not Emma. “How are you this evening?"

“I’ll just fetch the children from their reading,” Emily says as she slips out the door, and Josh smiles at the couple.

“I’m quite well, Sam, thank you. The children are reading?"

The dentist nods with a little laugh. “I don't think our Hermione could be friends with someone who doesn’t share her love of books. Harry’s reading _The Hobbit_ , and she’s just started _The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe_. I’m pleased he’s convinced her to try some more traditional children’s choices. Shakespeare and Homer are not precisely the usual choices for a nine-year-old."

“I suppose not.” Josh shakes his head a bit ruefully. “I’ll admit to reading Shakespeare and some of the, ah, lengthier Tolkien books at that age, but even I didn’t get into Greek classics until much older. Then again, I could hardly finish _The Lord of the Rings_ before starting it over at the beginning again."

“It’s the best way to see how much the characters changed over the course of the story!” a young voice pipes up from behind him, and Josh turns to see two children entering the kitchen ahead of Emily Granger. The girl is smiling at him. “Frodo is almost a different person, but you don’t realize it if you don’t compare start and finish straight away!"

“This would be our daughter Hermione,” Sam introduces with another little laugh. “You seem to have made a good first impression on her."

“Hello, Hermione. I’m Josh.” She shakes his offered hand energetically.

“Hi, Mr. Josh. Which one of the four main hobbits do you think you’re most like?"

He pauses to think for a moment, then grins. “Samwise Gamgee, I believe. You seem like a Meriadoc Brandybuck, though. And who is your friend, Peregrine Took?"

Her carefree laugh broadens his grin. “I think he’s more of a Frodo Baggins, but this is Harry Potter, Mr. Josh. He’s my very best friend."

“Hi,” Harry mumbles, and Josh takes in the body language and doesn’t offer a hand but instead a polite nod.

“Good to meet you, Harry. Have you read those books yet? Do you know which hobbit you’d be?"

Harry shakes his head and takes a small step back. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I haven’t read them."

“That’s okay,” Josh says, careful to keep his voice light and nonthreatening. “You don’t have to apologize for not reading a book. I’m sure you’ve read some that I haven’t, too."

Harry’s head shakes again, but Hermione elbows him. “He’s in our house, silly,” she hisses, and Harry shoots a sideways look at her.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, even more quietly and sounding a bit ashamed. “I’ll be better."

“Oh, Harry, you’re being just fine being you,” Emily says gently, and Josh nods encouragingly at her over the children’s heads. “I think Hermione meant to remind you of the rules of our house. As long as he’s here, he has to follow our rules just like the rest of us."

Harry looks at Hermione, who nods with her bottom lip between her teeth. He gazes up at Emily, who smiles down at him. He darts a quick glance at Josh, then stares at the floor again. “He didn’t promise, though, so it doesn’t count."

“Harry,” Josh says, and waits for a flicker of recognition, even though the boy still doesn’t meet his eyes again. He wonders for a second if the avoidance of eye contact is because of the tension or if meeting his gaze during their introduction was the unusual thing. “I promise that I will follow the rules of this house as long as I’m here."

“You don’t know the rules,” Harry says, and his gaze lifts to Sam just long enough for Josh to get a glimpse of the fear, uncertainty, and even anger in them.

“Good thought, Harry,” Sam praises, and he turns to Josh. “We don’t have many rules. The one that we’re the most worried about is that nobody is allowed to hit anyone else for any reason."

Josh drops to one knee, startling Harry. He waits for the boy to settle before speaking. “I promise that I will not hit anyone in this house. Do you believe my promise, Harry?"

Bright green eyes meet his and hold there for a long moment. He can’t seem to stop thinking about every time in his life he’s wanted to hit someone, and he’s glad of his restraint each and every time. He thinks for a long moment about how much he wants to gain the trust of this boy, how much he wants to make sure everyone feels safe with him, how sincere he is about this promise, how much he wants Harry to believe it. It feels like forever before the green eyes blink and his thoughts return to Harry’s body language in the moment.

“I believe you mean to keep it,” Harry answers slowly.

“But not that I will."

The eyes duck back to the floor.

“It’s okay, Harry. Everyone makes mistakes. I’m glad that you know that. I’m more glad that you believe I will try my very hardest to keep that promise.” Josh stills the urge to reach out and tip Harry’s chin until their eyes meet again, settling for tilting his head and trying to catch that gaze. “Are there any other promises you’d like me to make?"

“We also promised not to keep secrets except for good ones like presents,” Hermione answers as Harry turns towards her. “Well, and to keep the other rules, but that’s all stuff like being polite and not breaking things if we can help it."

Josh grins. “Admirable promises. Hermione, will you help me keep these rules by telling me if I start to break one?"

She reaches for Harry’s hand, squeezes it, and looks at his face for a long moment before answering. “Okay, Mr. Josh. We’ll help you if you make the promise first."

“Oh!” He can feel his face turning red. “I’m sorry, Harry, Hermione. I promise to not hit, to tell the truth, to be polite, to not break things, and to do my best to follow all the rules of the house as long as I’m here.” After a moment’s pause, he adds, “And any time I see any of you outside of this house."

A bit of tension bleeds out of Harry at that, just enough that Josh knows he wouldn’t have seen it if he hadn’t been watching. The barely audible signs from Sam and Emily Granger tell him that they had been watching just as closely and were just as relieved at that slight easing as Josh.

“Now, I do apologize, but my knees are too old to stay on the floor like this for long. I hope you don’t think it’s rude if I talk to you when we aren’t the same height."

Hermione giggles as he pulls himself back up to his feet, a hand under his elbow from Sam helping speed the process. “No, Mr. Josh, that’s not rude! And you’re not old. I know because you have some hairs that aren’t grey!"

“I think that’s rude to say,” Harry whispers urgently to Hermione, tugging on her hand, and Josh smiles.

“It would be rude if you meant it badly,” he tells the children, “but I know that you meant it kindly, and I took it as a compliment, Hermione. Thank you for thinking I’m not old.” He reaches out to pat her on the shoulder, and the next thing he knows, he’s sitting on his couch at home with vague memories of a pleasant meal with friends after that first charged conversation. He can’t for the life of him remember what they ate or what they discussed, but the most concerning thing is that he doesn’t remember if he decided if Harry Potter warrants a case with social care or not.

He writes a note on the pad of paper by the door to call Sam Granger the next day and goes to bed.

* * *

Peter Farber really hates being muggle-born some days.

He loves his family; there’s no doubt about that. He does not regret the people who raised him or the way he was raised. He doesn’t for a moment hate television, recorded music, ballpoint pens, notebooks, telephones, cars, or any number of modern muggle conveniences. He likes muggle books about magical worlds. He loves muggle dance clubs. He absolutely adores his hybrid magical-muggle flat, and none of these things would be a part of his life if he’d been raised in the magical world from birth.

Still, there are days when he hates being muggle-born. Days when all it means is being forced to pick up another night shift because it’s all purebloods otherwise, days when it means he’s the only one who can do a particular job and has to work overtime just so it gets done. Today is one of those days for Peter. As one of four muggle-bornpeople on the staff of the Misuse of Magic office, Peter has to work far more night shifts than the average pureblood to be available in the case of a muggle-bornchild’s first magical expression. It’s a fairly quiet evening so far, and Fox and Darlington are competing to see how many Ice Mice they can stand to eat in one mouthful. (Peter knows that his limit is four, and they’re already struggling at seven with no signs of stopping any time soon, so he has no regrets whatsoever about refusing the invitation to that particular competition.) They’ve all finished their paperwork, and the only thing Peter can think of to amuse himself is silently enlarging the Ice Mice with his wand hidden under his desk in an utterly transparent attempt to skew the competition into a win for Fox. Not because he likes Fox more than Darlington, of course; it’s just because Darlington is sitting closer to Peter, and thus his Ice Mice are easier to aim at.

The alarm going off startles them all, and Peter’s wand jerks into sight for a split second. Fox falls out of her chair laughing at the astonished look on Darlington’s face, and Peter runs into the map room before the man can decide to curse him for interfering in their friendly competition.

He touches the map, triggering the alarm to silence and causing it to zoom in and provide details for the incident of magical misbehavior. It’s in an all-muggle area and not registering to a wand at all, much less to an underage wand or a wand listed on a warrant, and he taps the spot on the map’s frame to bring up a list of known magical persons in the area. According to the map, _Arabella Figg (Squib)_ lives several kilometers away, but she’s the only person likely to have a magical visitor. Peter sighs. Either an adult magical person is performing magic in front of muggle, or he’s about to have to start an entire new file on a muggle-born witch or wizard showing magical potential. Thirty more minutes and the next shift would have gotten the alarm.

“Fox, how about you come with me this time?"

The woman grins at him. “Afraid to be alone with Darlington after you cheated for me?"

Darlington growls. “Get out of here, both of you. Don’t forget the communicator bracelets this time!"

Peter slaps a purple bracelet on his wrist and hands one to Fox. He then takes her by the shoulder and reaches for the map. “Ready?"

“Let’s go."

He touches the spot on the map still flashing orange as he and Fox both start the apparating process, and they’re pulled into the odd feeling that is the mix of portkey and apparition travel provided by the map. They come out of the blur into a nice-looking muggle house, and Fox immediately swings to put her back to his.

“Right, you there, if you could just come around and join the rest of the group … yes, thank you. Is there anyone in this house not in this room?"

“No, we’re all here,” a male voice replies. A moment later, the man struggles into view, dragging another man, clearly petrified, with him. “And how is it that you’re here?"

“Ooh, quick on the uptake, that ought to make things easier,” Fox says, moving to face the same way as Peter. All told, there are five people in the room - two men, a woman, and two children. “We’re from the Ministry of Magic. Sound familiar?"

Peter cuts in at the blank and disbelieving looks on the faces in front of him. “Never mind that for a moment. I’m Peter Farber, and this is Darla Fox. We’re here to help. I see this gentleman appears to be having some trouble. Could you tell me what happened to him?"

“He didn’t mean to!” one of the children shouts, and a bushy-haired girl is suddenly standing in front of Peter with her hands on her hips. “He was just trying to protect me, and even if I didn’t need protecting, I’m glad he wanted to help. And whatever’s wrong with Mr. Josh, Harry didn’t mean to do it! I won’t let you hurt him!"

Peter tries to smile at her, but he has a feeling it’s more of an exhausted grimace. He’s tired of the massive amounts of paperwork that come with registering underage muggle-born children. “I won’t hurt him. Harry? Is that his name? I won’t hurt Harry. I just want to fix … Mr. Josh? And then we’ll all talk. No hurting anyone."

“You have to promise you won’t hurt anyone, or I won’t let you near him,” the girl responds, unmoving.

He sees the two non-petrified adults reach towards her, but they pause, look at each other, and then fix steady glares on Peter. He sighs. “I promise I will not hurt anyone unless absolutely necessary."

“Not good enough."

He sighs again. Little girls are really not his favorite thing. “Look, the only reason I have to hurt someone is if they’re trying to hurt me or someone else. If that doesn’t happen, I promise I won’t hurt anyone. But I’m not going to promise not to defend you or me."

The girl fixes him with a hard glare, then turns around to whisper with the boy behind her. Peter only catches a couple of words, but the boy must reassure her, because she turns back to Peter and nods. “Okay. But you have to fix Mr. Josh first."

“Actually, I can’t do that.” He tries to take a step forward, but he finds that his legs won’t move. Great. Someone’s managed to partially petrify him, too. “I need to find out who he is and what happened to him before I can fix him."

“Why on Earth would it matter who he is?” the woman asks. “What happened is that Harry froze him without touching him. I’m certain you can fix that without knowing who he is."

Fox groans. “Because we have to know if he’s related to you to know if he needs to be—"

“Taken home before the discussion or after it,” Peter interrupts. No need to tell a family of muggles about Obliviators on their first experience of the magical world and get them even more hostile towards himself and Fox.

“He’s not. He’s just a … friend. Over for dinner.” The man’s hesitation before friend is odd, but Fox nods.

“Right then, Farber. You want me to handle him?"

“Take him to another room and call for the … backup … to help him out. I’ll take care of the talking in here, out of your way."

The woman frowns at him. “Absolutely not. I am not standing around my kitchen for a long discussion. The roast will be done in ten minutes, and then you can either join us for the meal or wait until we’ve eaten without you before we have whatever chat you deem necessary in the living room like civilized people who care if their legs fall asleep. That is not negotiable, Mr. Farber."

They really can’t keep this Josh man around magic much longer if they want the obliviation to take, but since he’s going to be working past the end of his shift anyway, he really can’t see a reason to turn down a free meal. “We have to take this man to our office to be sure he’s completely healed, and time is a factor."

“You want me to take him to the, er, backup?” Fox asks quietly, and Farber nods.

“That or bring the backup to him. Figure it out one way or another. Don’t forget - friend for dinner. Leave the appropriate impression.” Fox is not very helpful with the muggle-born orientation, but she’s brilliant at liaising with the Obliviation Squad to take care of bystanders of magical incidents. She’ll be sure the right memories are left with the muggle and that he’s left in the appropriate place.

“You got it. See you tomorrow, then."

“Tuesday. Long weekend for me."

“Wednesday. I’m off Tuesday because of working tomorrow."

“Just get on with it!” the muggle woman interrupts, and Peter and Fox both jump. “We don’t care about your work schedules. Just fix Mr. Bellamy and leave us to our dinner."

Peter nods, and Fox takes the still-petrified man by the elbow and apparates away. He’s not worried about that part of the job, but he wishes he were allowed to call for the muggle-born employee working the next shift to come help with the “welcome to the wizarding world” speech he’s got to give next.

After dinner. Definitely after dinner. The roast smells fantastic, and there’s a place set at the table for the man who just disappeared. Peter casts the counter for his partial petrification, ignoring their stares at his wand, and smiles as sincerely as he can manage. “Very well. Dinner and a discussion, as you said."

“I’m not in trouble?” the boy says, speaking for the first time since Peter arrived. “You’re not going to help me learn?"

Peter frowns at the odd phrasing. “Well, I do have a lot to teach you. All of you. You are all family, aren’t you?"

“Yes,” the woman answers at the same time that the man says, “No,” and the girl says “As good as."

“Well, _that_ was clear."

The adults exchange a glance, then the woman speaks. “We’re not blood family with Harry, but we take care of him and he may as well be family. Hermione is our biological daughter. Sam and I are married. And my name is Emily."

“Well met, Emily. Why do you take care of someone who isn’t family?"

“He is _so_ family,” the girl - Hermione - says. “Not blood, but family anyway."

“I am?” Harry asks, and Peter feels an actual smile come to his lips at the wonder in the kid’s tone.

“You are,” Sam confirms, and Peter shrugs in his head. It’s not like he demands proof of family status on muggle-born visits anyway. If only the woman had answered, he wouldn’t have known.

“Okay, Harry. So, you did something and froze the man earlier, is that right?"

Emily excuses herself to the other side of the kitchen as the timer rings, and Hermione answers for Harry. “Yes, but you said he wasn’t in trouble."

“He’s not. I think he has a special ability, and I’m here to help him find out if he does and to tell him about it."

“What ability?” Sam asks, moving forward so he’s blocking Peter’s view of both children.

He sighs. This is always the worst moment.

“Magic,” Harry says simply, and Peter gapes as he nods.

“Magic,” Sam repeats disbelievingly.

Peter nods again, trying to look around Sam at the boy. Harry, and younger than Hogwarts age. If only he could get a look….

“Explain."

“Right, yes.” Peter straightens and meets Sam’s eyes. “I have magic, too. There are lots of people who do, but we live together, mostly apart from your world."

Emily interrupts from the stove. “And how do you determine that Harry has magic and it wasn’t a trick we played?"

“Ma’am, there are a number of factors that tell me it wasn’t a trick, but I find out if Harry has magic by handing him a test wand that I have in my pocket.” He pats his hip meaningfully. “If he has magic, it will light up. If he doesn’t, it won’t, but it won’t hurt him or anyone else regardless.” He figures from the whole promising scene that not hurting people is oddly important in this house, so he adds that in. It’s not normally something he mentions until they ask, but better not to rile up the bushy-haired girl. She probably bites.

“I’ll be holding that test wand before he does,” Sam says, holding out a hand.

“Me too,” the girl adds.

Peter sighs yet again. “Okay, fine, but don’t be disappointed if it doesn’t light up. If you were magic, you would have been found when you were a child,” he cautions Sam.

“It might for me!"

“Please don’t get your hopes up, Hermione,” her father cautions as he takes the wand gingerly between two fingers. As nothing happens, he grips it more firmly, then squeezes it just short of breaking it, waves it around, and even pokes himself in the chest with it. When nothing happens, he hands it to his daughter.

Where it lights up.

Rather brightly.

Well.

He’d come here because the boy did magic, but apparently his not-exactly-sister is also magical. The paperwork is going to be absolutely astronomical. “Congratulations, Hermione,” he says, fighting to inject sincerity into his voice. “And now Harry?"

She turns and hands it to him, beaming brightly at everyone. As Harry takes it, though, it flares up so brightly even Peter has to close his eyes, and he’s seen the test wand in the hands of Auror Moody. It’s as bright as he would expect from Headmaster Dumbledore. There’s a clatter of wood on the floor, and the brightness disappears. Peter opens his eyes, retrieves the test wand from where it was dropped, and looks at the boy.

“Congratulations, Harry— wait, you’re Harry Potter!"

He doesn’t have time to even fully experience his shock and awe before he’s being dragged backwards several steps by their father. “How do you know who he is?” the man asks in a low, dangerous voice.

Peter is fully aware of how dangerous people can be without wands, especially when they’ve never had a wand to start to rely on. He also knows that this man has promised not to hurt the people in his house, so while he feels very threatened, he also feels paradoxically safe. “Well, everybody knows who he is!” he exclaims. “He’s famous!"

“Am not,” Harry says, glaring at him from surprisingly close by.

“Um, yes, you are. Very famous. Very, very famous. And nobody knows where you’ve been living all this time, and look, I’ve found you! Oh, this is just….” He stops there, and not because of the glare fixed on him by Sam. “This is just great,” he finishes with more sarcasm than he thought possible. “I’ve found the Boy-Who-Lived and can’t do anything about it because of my job. Fame and money, gone right out from under me. Not to mention, I can’t even stay for dinner, because I’m bound to report this to Albus Bloody Dumbledore within five minutes or lose my memory. If you’ll excuse me?” Sam still has a hold of his jacket, but he’s had to learn how to apparate solo despite muggles holding onto him in this job, so he turns on the spot and disappears without taking so much as a knuckle hair with him.

He tosses a pinch of Floo powder into the first Ministry fireplace he sees. “Hogwarts, Headmaster’s office!"

* * *

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore is nothing less than shocked to see Peter Farber stumble out of his office fireplace. Well, he’s not a bit surprised at the stumbling, because Mr. Farber never was the most graceful of wizards, but the biannual meeting of the Hogwarts administration and the Misuse of Magic office isn’t scheduled for another month and a half, and Farber has never shown any sort of initiative or ambition that would lead him to appear in Hogwarts for any reason outside of his job requirements. The man is a perfect Hufflepuff in his loyalty and drive to succeed at his job, but he’s entirely lacking in Slytherin ambition to advance beyond his current position.

“I found him!” Mr. Farber pants, grabbing the back of a nearby chair to steady himself. “Harry Potter, Headmaster. I found him doing magic this evening."

Albus suppresses a groan and glances over at his impressive row of magical instruments. Everything tuned to Privet Drives shows that the wards are all intact, including those that block the Ministry from detecting Harry’s magic at the house. “Indeed?” he asks with forced lightness, trying to buy a bit of time to figure out what was going on.

“Yes, sir. He petrified a dinner guest. And it turns out his sister is magical, too!"

Sister? Albus has to focus to keep his breathing and tone steady. “Do tell how you came to test his sister, my boy."

“Well, she’s very protective of him, as I’m sure you know.” Mr. Farber moves closer to Albus’s desk and seats himself in the chair that had caught him from the fireplace. “She and their dad insisted on holding the test wand before Potter."

Dad? The story is making no sense, but Farber clearly assumes Albus is already aware of the people being referenced. “I’m not surprised to hear that,” he lies. “Harry Potter must be protected, of course, so it is only natural."

“Right, right. Well, anyway, the dad of course didn’t get any response from it - and it was right funny watching a muggle trying a test wand, I’ll tell you - but the girl got quite a strong reaction from it. Not as strong as Potter’s, you can be sure, but very respectable. In fact, Lucius Malfoy brought in his son - Draco, you remember? - just a year or so ago to get a measure on his magic, and I think he’s about on par with this Hermione. But Potter’s stronger, of course. I mean, he’d have to be, considering his history with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. But Draco, and Harry’s sister, they’re both quite strong. Very respectable, Headmaster. I believe they’ll all be in the same class, too, so that ought to be a fun group to watch!"

As though Albus would allow Harry Potter anywhere near a Malfoy, no matter how strong. “Yes, I believe they will.” He steeples his fingers and gazes over the rim of his glasses at Farber. “Where did you happen to encounter this family, Mr. Farber?"

“Well, at their home, of course! I did mention it was a dinner guest Potter Petrified, didn’t I? Though I reckon it’s just the girl’s house, and her parents. I don’t think Potter actually lives with them. He sounded too surprised to be called family."

“My boy, might I take a quick peek at your memory? I’d like to be certain of the house and also see this dinner guest myself to make sure he’s no threat to the Boy-Who-Lived."

Farber nods enthusiastically. “Do you have a pensieve, or shall I store it in a vial?"

Albus waves a hand at his hidden pensieve, causing the cabinet to open. “Are you familiar with the process?"

“Yes, sir. Though I’ll admit I’ve never seen a pensieve before. I’ve stored plenty of memories in vials for my job, though."

Albus smiles as benevolently as he can manage. “You may take as long a look at the pensieve as you wish once you’ve deposited the memory, my boy. I understand the fascination with such a rare artifact.” He waits for the memory to drop in, then whispers almost silently, “Legilimens!” Farber was just as thorough in the memory removal as he should be, and it will be a simple matter to modify it slightly before returning it to the younger man. “Obliviate!” Farber's memories are reshaped under Albus’s careful hand to show the man reporting an unusually strong muggle-born witch with a muggle brother to the headmaster. It’s not unheard of for such an occurrence to be brought directly to his attention.

“That’s really quite a nice pensieve,” Farber remarks as he comes back to face the headmaster, and Albus makes certain the tip of his wand is fully concealed in his sleeve before Farber completes the turn. “I must admit I don’t recognize many of the runes on it."

“Ah, my boy, it’s been quite some time since your Ancient Runes classes. I believe Professor Babbling would forgive your forgetfulness."

Farber smiles. “Yes, Headmaster. Do pass along my best wishes to her, if you could."

“Of course."

“Shall I return next week to retrieve my memory?"

Albus frowns slightly. “I’m afraid I have a rather busy week. I will send an owl to arrange a meeting as soon as I’m able to investigate this young witch. I appreciate you notifying me of her abilities."

Farber’s smile doesn’t even flicker, and Albus congratulates himself on an obliviation well done. “Of course, Headmaster. I’m glad to do my part in making her transition to the wizarding world an easier one and to help her brother adjust to the news that his sister is magical when he himself is not. I understand that to be quite a tricky business to handle. I appreciate you and your staff taking on this case."

“Not a concern, my boy. Be sure you file the appropriate paperwork with your department to indicate Hogwarts will handle the follow-up with her. I’d hate to confuse the poor muggles with more wizards than necessary as they adjust."

Farber offers his hand to Albus and says his goodbyes before Flooing away. The headmaster seals his pensieve cabinet once again and continues to think on his plans for Harry Potter and how to deal with the new information of this muggle family with its witch daughter practically taking him in. He’ll need a new arrangement to ensure Harry Potter’s loyalty and willingness to fight in the coming war.

He wonders if it's best to go confront the family immediately or give them some time before approaching them. On one hand, they've had a lot going on this evening - a visit from Ministry officials never makes Albus's evening any better, at least - but on the other hand, he knows the Boy-Who-Lived is there right now. Regardless, he should watch the memory before meeting them. It always throws people off balance if you know more about them than they do about you on the first visit. Pensieve memories are the secret of Albus's famed omniscience.

When he comes back from the viewing, he sits behind his desk and strokes his beard. The irony of Farber reporting to "Albus Bloody Dumbledore" to avoid losing his memory just to be obliviated in the Headmaster's office amuses Albus more than he should ever admit. However, the real danger lies in Harry Potter. The boy now knows that he's famous. Farber dropped his fame and that nobody knows where the boy lives, and he even told young Harry his hyphenated moniker. Knowing there's a magical community and knowing of his famous name will make it far too easy for a little boy to learn more than he needs to know.

The family is really what alarms him. They take care of him and consider him family? Albus glances over at the instrument monitoring the wards on 4 Privet Drive, but they show no change in ward strength. Either Harry still calls that house his home, or he never did. Albus will have to show up at the house in person to check the ward strength, but it goes against his agreement with Petunia Dursley to be seen by her family or neighbours for anything less than an immediate and life-threatening emergency. Perhaps if he were to go in the middle of the night, when she wouldn't know.... Yes. That's what he'll do. This very night, he'll sneak up to Harry Potter's house under cover of darkness and check on the strength of his blood wards. There's no point in confronting the Grangers until he has all of the facts, and he'd really rather take them by surprise on another day when they aren't on guard from having wizards visiting already. His presence is much more impressive when not anticipated in the slightest, and the impressiveness is only magnified when he's visiting muggles who have had only the barest introduction to magic before. Yes, intimidating the Grangers and getting young Harry under his control will be child's play if he just manages it all correctly, and the first step is to see how strong the blood wards are.

It doesn't occur to him until he finds the wards only just barely functional that this is tantamount to spying on the quality of love between young Harry and his aunt. Normally, he wouldn't care in the slightest about the emotional state of his students' families, but in this case, emotional bonds are the only thing standing between young Harry and death. It's a miracle the boy has survived these past six years with the wards as low as they are. His instruments indicate that no change in ward strength has happened since the boy was first found on the doorstep.

Albus thinks back to the memory Farber provided just six hours earlier. The Grangers consider Harry family, and from the amazement and pleasure in his tone when he learned that, Harry feels nothing but positively about that fact. The strength of the wards doesn’t lead Albus to believe that Harry would have the same reaction if Petunia claimed him as family in his earshot. Then again, the wards can only function on the level of reciprocal caring present. There's no way to know for sure which of the two doesn't care for the other, or indeed if neither of them is interested in the familial bond necessary to power the wards to full strength. He can't very well march up to the house in daylight to interrogate Petunia Dursley on her feelings towards her nephew, but if he catches young Harry outside of the house, he would be within the letter of the agreement.

There's school, any hobbies young Harry might have outside of the house, the neighbourhood park - although Petunia would likely accompany the boy there, so he'll save it for a last resort - and perhaps the Grangers. If they feel that strongly about young Harry, he'll be back there. It may take some time to catch him there, but if he's persistent, it will be worth it. There's a reporter, just 20 years out of Hogwarts, who owes him a favor for keeping her animagus form a secret. A small beetle is just the creature to spy on the Grangers' house after school every day to let him know when young Harry is there. After all, while he can reasonably visit a newly discovered muggle-born witch in her home to discuss his school, there are only so many times he can make a return visit before it becomes suspicious. Rita, in her beetle form, will be entirely unremarkable, and he's not above demanding an unbreakable vow to keep young Harry secret until his eleventh birthday. Surely a promise to allow her exclusive access to him at the school will be a big enough boon to make a couple barely-legal favors worthwhile.

Then again, if he's visiting the Grangers' house, he can skip the questions about young Harry's feelings and simply impress upon him the fact that his fame is nothing more than a magnet for danger at the present time and that he's best off remaining in his aunt's house when not at school. Albus can boost the blood wards with a bit of Harry's natural magic - Farber's memory shows that young Harry has plenty of magic to spare - and tighten the other wards to provide the best security possible. Perhaps being forced to spend more time with Petunia will improve the blood wards. A young boy off gallivanting with friends can't possibly have that much caring left over for his family. It's no wonder the wards are so low if Petunia allows him to spend so much time with friends. Albus will have to remind her - with a letter, of course; their agreement won't allow for anything else - that her own safety also rests on the strength of the wards. If she cares for herself the way he's sure she does, that ought to scare her into caring for the boy.

Albus apparates back to Hogwarts, going over the exact wording he'll have to use with young Harry in his head, and writes two letters in his best elegant looping handwriting. One he reserves to send to Petunia after speaking with young Harry; the other he sends with a school owl to Rita Skeeter. With the help of her beetle form, he should be able to speak with young Harry on his next visit to the Grangers. Surely he'll have the whole mess back on track, restored to his original plan with little need for revision, by the end of the week.

He is Albus Dumbledore, after all.

* * *

Rita Skeeter is not surprised in the slightest to receive a letter from her former headmaster asking for a favor in return for his continued silence on her tiny omission to the Ministry. (She's firmly convinced that while not disclosing an animagus form is currently against the law, it should not be. As she builds influence over the next few years, she fully intends to have that law repealed. Dumbledore has already agreed to support the bill when she gets someone to introduce it. As long as having her form secret will be legal in the future, she has no problem glossing over it for now, and it's not like she's actually lying to the Ministry. Nobody's ever asked her if she's an animagus.)

She is, however, more than a little bit surprised at what the favor is. Watch a young muggle-born witch while "making use of your wonderful trade secrets" and report a certain visitor? And this will net her not just his continued silence but also an exclusive on "a most high-profile individual for the seven years he shall spend in the hallowed halls of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry" - honestly, like she doesn't know the full name of her own alma mater and can't figure out he's offering Harry Potter in payment - but also requires an Unbreakable Vow?

Rita's not one to risk her life unnecessarily, but her interest is piqued. She's also well aware of Albus's tendency to obliviate those who know too much and aren't working with him. She stores her most important memories before meeting him anyway, and this letter will go in storage with them. She'll hear his offer, and she'll know that if she can't remember what it is after the meeting that it was not worth an Unbreakable Vow. Regardless, she'll have proof in her Gringotts vault that Albus Dumbledore, the most revered Leader Of The Light in living memory, was willing to sell out the Boy-Who-Lived for a spy mission. That alone ought to net her several favors. The dirt she and Dumbledore have on each other is already enough for a lifetime of owing each other favors, but it never hurts to have more. Besides, she's sure to outlive the old man, and the more dirt she has on him, the more people will pay for his biography after he finally kicks the bucket.

And so it happens that she goes into work on Monday, turns over a not-very-exciting story on yet another appeal by yet another marked Death Eater in Azkaban to a junior reporter, and sits on a bush in front of a thoroughly muggle house to wait for Harry Potter to show up. She hopes it doesn't take more than a couple of days for her to gather the necessary intelligence; seven years of exclusives on the Boy-Who-Lived is worth not covering the annual Malfoy Halloween Ball, but she'd really prefer to manage both. Another couple of years worth of blackmail on Lucius Malfoy should gain her his support on the animagus bill, and the Malfoy Halloween Ball is prime blackmail time.

She gets lost in reminiscing about all the dirt she has on the blond bastard until a sudden door slamming startles her back to the present. It's become evening, and the muggle-born girl and her parents are getting out of a muggle contraption on the road. (Veheevil, she thinks the thing is called. Not even the goblins could pay her enough gold to get into one of those metal boxes.)

"Thanks for that, Mum!" the girl says, hugging the woman tightly. "I know Harry enjoyed it, too. Can we do it again tomorrow?"

The woman laughs and starts towards the house with a hand on the girl's shoulder. "No, Hermione. You know that. But you'll see him tomorrow at school, and he'll come home with you on Thursday for dinner as well as spending the entire weekend here. Don't you think that's enough time with your friend?"

The house's front door swings open to admit the family, but Rita catches one last bit of conversation before it closes again.

"Emily, you know no amount of time with Harry Potter will ever be enough for anybody in this family."

Rita silently thanks the man for giving her absolute confirmation, and with only a few hours of work. Easiest exclusive she's ever won, and all she has to do now is not tell anyone that she spied (like she'd reveal her beetle form), where this family lives, or that she knows anything about Harry Potter.

As she flies back to a convenient alley to apparate to the gates of Hogwarts, Rita starts thinking about what the best dress for the Malfoy Halloween Ball would be. Something guaranteed to have the men distracted and talking about whatever crosses their minds....

* * *

Petunia Dursley isn't quite sure what to make of her nephew's new friend. She's shocked to find out that he's made a friend, despite her family's best efforts to keep him apart - Vernon thinks it will keep the magic out of him, Dudley thinks it's fun, and Petunia doesn't want him to break anyone's hearts when he leaves for ... that place. Still, he's somehow gotten around all those barriers and has a friend, and her family has even taken to him.

She's not a fan of Emily Granger. The woman is nosy, and not in the ways that Petunia appreciates. Instead of supplying the neighbourhood with gossip, she seems determined to ferret out their secrets. Why else would she be friendly to Potter or asking the Dursleys about him?

"Well, he doesn't know very much about his parents," she explains to the woman as she shifts the telephone to her other ear. "He knows that they died in a car crash when he was just a year old, but he's never asked to know more, so we thought it would be best to keep the details private until he asked."

"I see," Emily Granger replies, and Petunia is fairly certain that the dentist sees exactly what Petunia doesn't want her to see. "And he came to your care as soon as they died?"

Petunia frowns at the kitchen wall. Like that's anybody's business but the family's. "He was there as well, so he needed some medical attention before he came to us. It was just one night in between, though, if I remember correctly. I don't believe I've ever mentioned it to him, and I doubt he remembers that time well anyway."

"Of course. At that age, I wouldn't expect it. I was merely curious if he had been in an orphanage or anything before coming to your care. He seems quite slow to trust in adults, which is very common for children who have had multiple caregivers over time."

"I see. Perhaps he doesn't consciously remember the time, but it still affects him on a subconscious level?" Petunia wants to bang her head against the cabinet. It's not like they can send him to a psychiatrist. He's just a kid, and if he does remember any of these memories, they'd be full of ... unnatural things ... and there's no way to explain that to a normal doctor.

"That could be possible." There's doubt dripping from the words.

Petunia sighs. "That's certainly a matter that the family will discuss," she says insincerely. She might discuss it with herself, but to bring it up with the freak would do no good, and Vernon certainly wouldn't care.

"I wonder if it would be possible to contact the doctor who cared for him that night to find out any more information."

"No," Petunia says quickly. "Er, I'm afraid he's quite unreachable for most people. That is to say, I don't know precisely which medical professional saw to him," but it was certainly one of _those_ types, "but the man who was responsible for P- Harry's well-being at the time is unreachable."

"Oh? Might I ask his name? Since I'm also in the medical field, I may be able to find more information for you."

What could it hurt? "Albus Dumbledore," she spits out. "And if you do find him, please inform him that children should not be left in baskets on the front steps with a note. I very nearly stepped on the boy that morning, and that note was how I learned of my sister's death. It was quite unprofessional and unkind of him."

There's silence for a long moment before Emily Granger finally responds, voice full of warring disbelief and anger. "He left a child in a basket outside, unattended?"

"Yes."

"Any number of animals could have come by! Anyone could have stolen him! Was he at least protected from the weather?"

Petunia laughs, but she figures it can't hurt to turn this woman and her family against the freaks. If they matter so much to Potter, maybe he'll listen to them and turn out normal, after all. "It was November, and he was wrapped in a light blanket. He also had a dirty nappy, no food, no clothes, no toys, nothing with him. Of course, since we didn't know he was coming, he didn't have anything in our house, either - Dudley has always been larger. If I could find that man, I would give him quite a piece of my mind."

"Oh, I'd love to help you with that," Mrs. Granger almost growls through the phone. "I imagine being left outside overnight didn't exactly help his health, after being in the hospital! Albus Dumbledore has it coming to him when I get my hands on him."

Petunia blinks, surprised at the vehemence in the other woman's voice. While she'd be more than happy to see Dumbledore one more time if it involved him getting a tongue-lashing (and preferably also an actual lashing), she certainly wouldn't go to the effort to make it happen. Why would a woman who's only met Potter a few times put in the energy?

"Anyway, I do apologize for interrupting your day. I did have just one more question for you, though. I was hoping you could tell me a bit more about his parents. Were they ... Hmm, how should I say it? It just seems that Harry has some, perhaps unusual is the word? Some unusual traits, and I thought they might be explained better by genetics than by his upbringing, since from what I can see, nobody in your family has those traits."

"We've tried quite hard to bring him around to be more normal," Petunia explains. She'll leave out some of their methods, as they may be slightly different from the average approach, but to have the Granger family aiding in the Make Potter Normal campaign can only help, no matter what approach they use. "It has been very difficult. He tends to act normal around us but let out the unusual traits when he's out of our sight."

"Yes, of course. Well."

"Do feel free to correct him if necessary, Mrs. Granger," Petunia offers. "I trust that a fellow mother will handle the situation appropriately, but of course I'm available if you're unsure of how to manage this particular boy. He is unusual, as you said."

"I will handle his situation as best I can. Well, thank you for the chat, Mrs. Dursley. I'm afraid my break is over now, though. I do have patients to be seeing. Take care, and don't forget that we'll be getting Harry from school on Thursday and Friday. I'm sure we can make some progress with him over the weekend and give you a bit of a break from trying to manage two young boys! It's so much simpler with just a girl, or even with a girl and a boy. Harry and Hermione are no bother for us at all."

"Lovely," Petunia says disbelievingly. Potter, no bother? That would be the day. "We'll be out of town over the weekend. I'll be sure the boy has the number for the hotel where we'll be staying, in case there's any sort of emergency we'd be required for."

"Wonderful. Have a lovely day, Mrs. Dursley."

Petunia starts to hang up the phone, then quickly interjects, "Yes, of course, you too, Mrs. Granger."

There. Potter gone for a weekend, Dumbledore with another normal person out of his blood - and one who might actually do something about the old geezer - and another convert for turning Potter normal. Not bad for an unwanted phone call. Not bad at all. Petunia's day was starting to look up, even if she did have to fetch the boys from school in just thirty minutes.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore apparates on Thursday afternoon to the alley Rita recommended, dressed in his favorite muggle suit - plum colored, of course, to show his higher status to the muggles, not that most of them even noticed - and strides down the street to the Granger home. He rings the doorbell and enters as soon as the muggle man opens the front door. "Mr. Granger, I presume?" He doesn't offer the man his hand, though he finds himself a bit put out when Granger doesn't offer his own hand. "The Ministry of Magic contacted me about young Harry and Hermione. I'm here to follow up with them. Might I meet them?"

"They're finishing up their homework just now, so I'm afraid they're not available at this moment," a woman says, stepping through a doorway as she wipes her hands on a towel. "I'm Hermione's mother. And you are?"

“Ah, my apologies. Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - the school Hermione and Harry have been invited to attend - and a rather influential man in the government, by way of being the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. I—"

“Albus Dumbledore,” the woman interrupts, speaking very slowly and with a distinctly Malfoy-esque drawl. “You’re Albus Dumbledore. _The_ Albus Dumbledore?"

He’s a bit puzzled. Surely the muggles don’t think that’s a common name in the wizarding world? “Yes, Mrs. Granger. The one and only Albus Dumbledore, to the best of my knowledge, bar an ancestor who passed almost 300 years ago."

“So it’s you we have to thank.” She reaches through the doorway to drop the towel on a nearby counter.

“For what would you be thanking me?” He’s quite puzzled now. “I assure you, Hermione would be offered a place at Hogwarts whether I were Headmaster or not, and—"

“Oh, for taking guardianship of an infant and then leaving him on a doorstep with a note!” Mrs. Granger’s voice starts to rise as she continues speaking. “For taking guardianship against the express wishes of his parents! For leaving him with the Dursleys, also against the express wishes of his parents! I may not have met James and Lily Potter, but I’m fairly certain they would have been quite clear to wish he _not_ be left on a doorstep with a note, had they realized it would become necessary to spell out such basic health and safety for their only son at any point! We also have to thank you for completely neglecting your guardianship! Did you even _once_ check on your charge to see that he was alive, much less healthy or happy? Thank you, Albus Dumbledore, for abandoning the boy you claim is your savior! You are just an abusive, negligent, power-hungry—"

Now, that’s just going too far for Albus to let slide unchallenged. “Mrs. Gra—"

The woman pokes him in the chest, and not very gently. “No! You don’t get to talk yet. I am still expressing my _deep_ ,” another poke to the chest, “and _abiding_ ,” a third poke, “gratitude for _you_ ,” poked again, “taking your _guardianship_ ,” yet another poke, “so _seriously_ ,” he is getting quite tired of the poking, “and basically doing everything you could to _ruin Harry Potter’s life through your own negligence!_ ” Mrs. Granger ends her tirade with a poke on each of the last eight words, and Albus steps back and rubs his chest. He is not looking forward to explaining to Madam Pomfrey why he needs bruise ointment for his chest. Nobody ever talks back to him, and he certainly has never been poked in the chest before.

“Madam, I cannot expect a Muggle to understand, but it was - and remains - vital that Harry lives with his aunt and spends as much time in her house as possible and that the caring between them grows to its maximum potential.” There, that should settle her concerns and let him escape her annoying poking and arguing.

“CARING? Do you seriously call that caring?” Mrs. Granger advances on Albus once again, and he’s completely dumbfounded to find his back against the wall. “Harry Potter spends as much time as he can in MY house, because he gets more CARING here than he ever has there. He gets more caring in a minute here than he does in a month with that family! He practically lives here, and we’d be well past practically and into reality and legality if I had my way! Harry may as well be my own son! I swear on my _life_ that I will always look after him as my son, Dursleys and headmasters-cum-guardians be damned!"

She pokes him in the chest again, very hard, at the end of that complaint, and Albus is completely shocked to see a single golden spark and feel a small rush of magic at the point of contact. “Mrs. Granger, did you realize that you are in fact a Squib and thus just made a magically binding oath with your last statement?"

“I DON’T CARE! I WOULD KEEP THAT PROMISE WITHOUT THE THREAT OF MAGIC! HARRY POTTER IS IN MY CARE!” She suddenly stops, looks down at her still-poking finger, and then meets Albus’s wide-eyed stare. “Magically binding oath?"

“Oh, yes.” He realizes his mouth is hanging open and snaps it shut.

“I have magic.” She sounds more skeptical than any one person should be able to.

“Indeed. A trace amount only. Just enough to mix many potions and make magically binding oaths. At that level, you would be considered a Squib rather than a Muggle."

“You’re telling me that if I somehow fail to look after Harry, I’ll die, because I just magically swore on my life?"

He nods gravely, completely unprepared for her to break out in a grin.

“Excellent. I’ll need you to testify to that effect when I sue the Dursleys for custody of Harry."

He blinks. Twice. Very slowly. “Er."

“Surely you wouldn’t want to be considered an accessory to murder, Mr. Dumbledore?"

“Ah. No, I can’t imagine I would enjoy that. However, it’s quite unnecessary to sue for custody. You see, as you made that oath to me - Harry’s magical guardian, at the time - and in front of me - a representative of Britain’s magical government - you have just become Harry Potter’s magical guardian. The wards on his aunt’s house have likely collapsed, making it no more safe for him than any other house at this moment. I simply have to sign the automatically generated paperwork to confirm that I witnessed your oath, and the magical government will recognize your guardianship."

“And the non-magical government?"

"Well, I must say that I don't often deal with the Muggle government, but I'm sure something can be arranged. We can create the necessary paperwork and simply shift some memories around to make it all dated today as well."

"No." Mrs. Granger points her dreaded finger at Albus once again. "Absolutely not, Mr. Dumbledore. I will not have you meddling in people's heads on my behalf. In fact, I don't believe you should allowed to meddle in people's heads at all without their direct consent, especially non-magical people!"

He eyes the finger cautiously and edges sideways along the wall to escape it, but she follows unerringly. "We can just place the backdated paperwork, then, and let you follow up on it as though it were filed before and simply needed to be signed off on."

Her eyes narrow, and the finger doesn't waver. "Almost acceptable. Add in a way that the Dursleys will be held accountable in the non-magical world for their treatment of Harry, as well as a way that you will be held accountable in the magical world for your part in it, and we will have a deal."

"Madam!" He has no problem with obliviating her and manipulating her memories to his benefit, but she'll come under scrutiny as the guardian of the Boy-Who-Lived, so he'd rather bring her around if possible. "I daresay I had no part in any treatment young Harry did or did not receive in his aunt's care!"

"Exactly my point, former guardian."

"I could not possibly be considered responsible, I assure you. To bring a case against me in the Wizengamot would be entirely useless and thus a waste of your valuable time." He has enough supporters there, and even those who are against him would never stoop to supporting a mere muggle over a pureblood wizard, even if he is a muggle-lover by reputation. Better a muggle-lover than an actual muggle, in their eyes.

"Then I will bring charges against you in the non-magical world."

The finger descends towards his chest again, and Albus makes an entirely undignified dodge to avoid it. "Ah. You see, as I was raised entirely in the magical world, there is no record of me in your Muggle world. You may find it difficult to penalize a person who technically does not exist."

"And you may find it difficult to have my children at your school." The Granger woman turns her back and returns to the kitchen. "Please see him out, Sam. I'm afraid the children won't be able to meet with a biased representative of the magical world. We'll find someone not affiliated with any particular school to give them a well-balanced view."

Albus finds himself silently escorted from the house with a firm hand on his elbow. There are muffled voices from just inside the door, including one that simply must belong to young Harry, and he turns on his heel to apparate back into the front room.

He's shocked to find himself flat on his back in the street, his magic telling him in no uncertain terms that there are now wards on the thoroughly muggle house preventing his entry.

He’ll have to look into that.

Later.

When his buttocks and spine are no longer throbbing from his unceremonious ejection from a muggle house.

Yeah, he’ll have to come up with a more glamorous reason for the injury before he gets to Poppy Pomfrey.

* * *

Janet Everly stops outside the room and looks in the one-way glass at the boy within. She's never handled a case quite like this one before, but all her reports from the prospective parents paint the picture of a hesitant and emotionally injured but ultimately bright and kind young boy. He's ignored all the toys and children's books in the room and is instead looking at the bookshelf that she and her coworkers sometimes use as reference during parent meetings. To her surprise, he pulls off one of the thickest books and carries it carefully to the table. He hoists himself into a chair, checks the index, and then turns the pages until he seems to find what he's looking for. She can't hide a grin when he puts his chin on a fist and frowns down at the book, silently sounding out words.

She opens the door quietly, but the boy catches it. He jumps up from the table, whirls to face her, and then clasps his hands behind his back as he drops his gaze. "I'm sorry," he says.

"Why are you apologizing?" she asks.

"I touched your books without permission. And I sat at the- Never mind. Emily and Sam said it was okay to sit anywhere I wanted to, so that includes the table."

Janet nods. "That's right. It is okay to sit anywhere, and that does include the table. As for the books, it's true that you touched them without permission, but I don't have a rule about that not being allowed, so it's okay, too."

"Oh." He watches her slowly approach the table and sit in the chair beside the one he had been using. "It's okay that I was reading your book?"

"Yes, it is. Would you like to tell me what you were reading?"

He frowns and looks down at his shoes again. "I wasn't really reading it right. A lot of the words were too hard."

Janet uses one hand to mark the page he was on and lifts the cover. "Oh, my." She turns the book back to his page and stares at him. "You must be a very bright little boy to even try to read this book! It’s used as a textbook in university courses for people studying to have my job. It’s not easy even for adults not in this field, but for a child! Would you like to share what topic you were reading? I might be able to help you understand it."

"That's okay." The boy reaches over and closes the book, pushes it across the table. "Oh, no! I forgot to introduce myself! I'm sorry. My name is Harry."

"Hello, Harry. My name is Janet. And I forgive you for not introducing yourself if you can forgive me for the same thing."

"Of course!" Harry glances at the abandoned book for the briefest of moments, too quickly for anyone not watching him closely to even notice. "Um, Ms. Janet, Emily said you had to talk to me but she didn't say why. Well, she said it had to do with me starting to live with them instead of with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, but she didn't say what you needed to talk to me about."

Janet smiles at him. "Why don't you join me at the table? Sitting is usually more comfortable for a conversation."

"Okay." Harry reclaims the same chair he was in earlier, but Janet doesn't fail to notice that he edges it the slightest bit away from her. "I'm sitting now."

"Well, Harry, I really just need to ask some questions about the Dursleys and about the Grangers. If you don't want to answer something, that's okay. You just tell me you don't want to. I won't push you any further unless it's really, really important. Can you tell me if you don't want to answer something?"

There's a short moment of silence before Harry nods. "Okay, if you promise you won't keep asking unless it's that important."

"I promise." She waits for him to relax a bit and meet her eyes before continuing. "Did you like living with your aunt and uncle?"

"I had to live where I was."

Janet keeps her pleasant smile. "We all have to live with someone when we're young, Harry. You're one of very few people who gets to have some input into with whom you live. Will you tell me if you liked living with them?" She catches his nervous glance around the room and leans in closer to him. "Nobody can hear you except me, and I promise I won't tell your aunt and uncle what you say."

"Pinky swear," he demands after a moment, offering his pinky.

"Okay. I pinky swear." She wraps her pinky awkwardly around his smaller one and squeezes it gently before he pulls away with a quick movement. "Did you like living with your aunt and uncle?"

He shakes his head tentatively, the motion slow and small. "Not as much as I like staying over with Emily and Sam," he says in a voice just barely audible.

"Can you tell me why you like staying with Emily and Sam better?"

Harry casts another nervous look around. "They're nice," he tells her, even quieter than before. "They give me a real room, with a big bed and a door that doesn't lock on the outside. They let me eat however much I want - well, except for candy, but I don't mind it when they say not to eat candy because I know it isn't very good for you. And I'm allowed to do my homework wherever I want to and use the bathroom if I want to and they made promises and they all keep the promises just as well as I do!” His volume stayed low throughout the whole speech, but Janet is pleased to note his rising excitement and happiness as he tells her about his place with the Grangers.

However, she struggles to keep the smile on her face at all the things he just told her about the Dursleys without exactly saying it or intending her to know. She’s glad he’s not still with them, if all of his implications are true. “Living with the Grangers sounds nice," she says encouragingly. "Do you get to eat candy at all with them?"

He grins. "Oh, yeah. They even bought me a chocolate Santa when we went to the store last week! I wasn't allowed to eat it all at once, but it was a lot of chocolate, so I don't think I would want it all at once, anyway."

"I love chocolate Santas," Janet agrees. "I don't eat them all at once, either. Can you tell me about the promises the Grangers made?"

"They promised not to hit me or anyone else. That was the first promise. We all promised it on the very first time I went to their house."

"You promised it, too?" When Harry nods, Janet smiles at him. "That's a very good promise for everyone to make, Harry. What other promises did they make?"

He frowns in thought. "Um, the same night, they all promised not to hide anything except good things like presents, but I didn't promise it then. I still didn't promise it."

"Have you thought about promising it?"

The frown deepens. "I thought, but I don't want to now. And they don't make me. I think they tell me everything anyway, though. Well, Emily didn't say what you wanted to talk about,"

"I asked her not to," Janet explains quickly. "It might not be like a present, but she kept it a secret because I asked her to."

"Why?" Big green eyes meet hers and hold, and she realizes that he hasn't really held her gaze until now.

She finds herself revisiting the memories of talking with Emily Granger as she tries to explain. "Well, Harry, sometimes bad people will tell their children what to say to us, so we don't let anyone even tell their kids what we're going to talk about. That's the only way we can make sure nobody cheats."

"Cheats how?"

Janet remembers a particularly brutal case she worked several years prior. "Sometimes, mean parents will tell their children what to say, and then if the child says something different and the parent finds out, they hurt their kids." Ashley had confessed the real conversation to her father and ended up being taken into the child care system from the emergency room with two broken legs and severe internal damage.

"Oh. Okay. I guess that's okay, then. She wasn't keeping anything bad from me, so it's allowed." Harry still doesn't look very happy, though.

"Harry, I had to make her promise not to tell you."

"I know." The boy sighs. "She didn't promise until you told her why. That's why it's okay. She knew it wasn't bad. But what if one day she promises before she knows what she's keeping secret?" He hunches in on himself in the chair and puts the knuckles of his index finger between his teeth, dropping his gaze to his knees.

Janet frowns, trying to remember if she'd told him all of that. No, she hadn't; Emily Granger must have. "This is a very special case, Harry. I don't think she'll forget to make sure of what she promises to you, but you should talk to her about it if you're worried."

He doesn't look convinced.

"May I tell her that you're worried about this?"

There's a long silence, and she catches Harry eyeing the textbook again. "Okay."

"Thank you, Harry."

He shrugs, then glances back up to meet her gaze. "Did you have more questions?"

* * *

Dorothea Lubar had been surprised when she saw the Potter boy wear new, well-fitted clothes to school; surprised when she was reprimanded by the principal for calling him a freak and not calling on him during class; and absolutely shocked when she learned he was being looked after by the new girl Hermione's family. Still, after a few months of his steadily-improving behavior and social skills, she thought she was getting used to the way things worked now and had a good handle on Harry Potter.

Unfortunately, nothing could have prepared her for this day.

He practically bounces as he enters the classroom, holding Hermione's hand. They go to the reading area to wait for class to start, as they have been doing every day for almost three months now, but Harry keeps popping up, fiddling with the books, fiddling with his bookbag, fiddling with anything and everything in the reading area instead of reading calmly like most mornings.

"Harry, is everything okay?"

He freezes for a brief second, and she doesn't miss the fear in his face before his 'sister' reaches up without looking and squeezes his hand. "Er, yes, Mrs. Lubar. I'm sorry for being...."

"Disruptive? Fidgety? Distracting?" Hermione offers, never once looking away from her book.

Harry's face turns red. "Yeah. Those." He scuffs his shoe against the carpet, watching its progress attentively, but even this doesn't keep him still for long. "Mrs. Lubar?"

"Yes, Harry?" She's amused to see Hermione roll her eyes as the boy starts fidgeting again.

"Can we do show and tell today?"

She suppresses a smile. He's only participated in show and tell once, and it had taken the combined efforts of Hermione and Dorothea for him to come up, show off a small silver ribbon, and mumble something that nobody could hear. "I suppose we can, although without warning, it's possible nobody will have anything to share."

"Nope!" Harry contradicts her with a grin. "See, I have something! It's really big. Well, me and Hermione both do."

"Hermione and I," Dorothea corrects him gently, but he only nods distractedly and bounces in place.

"So can we do show and tell and me and Hermione can share our news?"

"Hermione and I," the girl in question corrects from the floor behind Harry, and he glances back with confusion on his face.

"Um, you are Hermione."

She looks up at him, then meets Dorothea's own gaze before squeezing her eyes shut and visibly holding in laughter. It takes her a long moment to regain control. "Yes, Harry, I do actually know my own name. You should be saying 'Hermione and I can share our news.'"

Harry's face turns red again. "Right. Hermione and I." He turns hopeful eyes back on Dorothea. "Please, Mrs. Lubar?"

She briefly considers teasing him a bit more, but she's afraid that the cheerful and smart boy she's finally getting to know might disappear back into his 'freak' shell if she does that. "Of course, Harry. If other students have something to share, would you like to go first?"

He drops to his knees and whispers urgently into Hermione's ear. They hold a short conversation before Hermione nods and answers for him. "We'd like to go last, if that's okay, Mrs. Lubar."

"Not a problem." As the rest of the students start to come into the classroom, the 'siblings' shelve their books (and straighten what Harry's fidgeting left in disarray) before joining everyone else at their desks. Dorothea collects the homework from the class and then realizes, looking at Harry and Hermione, that there's really no point in trying to get any work done yet. Neither of them would be able to focus.

"Class, we're going to change the schedule a little bit today and start with show and tell. I know most of you aren't prepared for it, but we will still have our regular show and tell on Friday, so don't worry that you're missing your chance. Does anyone have anything they want to share?"

Franklin has a lizard in his pocket (which is dutifully released out the window after being passed around to every boy in the room), Jessie shares her first A on a maths paper that she's apparently been carrying around for the past two days, and then there's quiet in the room.

"Is it our turn now?" Harry whispers to Hermione, only to turn red yet again as the entire class looks over at them.

"I believe it is," Dorothea replies with a genuine smile as Harry bounds to his feet and practically drags Hermione to the front of the room.

"I asked Mrs. Lubar to do show and tell today because I have something very, very big to share with everyone," Harry says in a rush. "Last night, Hermione's parents handed me an envelope - hey, wait, I forgot the envelope!"

Hermione sighs loudly, but her grin is still plastered on her face. "I'll get it, Harry."

"Thanks! Anyway, they handed me an envelope after dinner, and I opened it up, and finally everything is all done and legal and I know most of you probably heard about this already from your parents, but I haven't said anything, and neither has Hermione, but now we want to tell you that I've been living with them since November and yesterday they finished something and it's all done and it's in this envelope and I'll show you-"

"Breathe," Hermione instructs, waiting until the younger boy takes a couple deep, exaggerated breaths before passing him the envelope.

"I'm officially part of their family now," Harry says all in a rush, and he pulls a paper out of the envelope. "This is my very own copy of the adoption paperwork." He grins proudly around the room, then hands the paper to Hermione. "You can show anyone who wants to see it, but be careful with it!"

She smiles at him as she takes the paper. "Even if something happens to this paper, you're still officially family, Harry."

He relaxes the slightest bit. “Right. I guess I forgot. Thanks!" He turns back to the class and reaches into the envelope again. "There's another thing, though. Bigger. They changed my name, so I'm going to tell you so you can all know what to call me now. I'm not Harry Potter anymore." He pulls out a stiff sheet of paper, and it takes Dorothea a minute to realize it's a photograph with words added to it. "Hello, class. My name is Harry James Granger, and I'm Hermione's new brother."

He holds up the photo, one of him with Hermione and her - their - parents, with "The Granger Family" written in beautiful calligraphy at the bottom, silver ink on black.

Dorothea has been teaching for twenty-three years and has had this particular class for over six months, but she's still completely shocked by the reaction of all of the children to the boy who started the year as a shunned, bullied freak. Every single student, even Piers Polkiss, stands up from their desk and starts clapping, some cheering, some whistling, even a few crying. Hermione drops the adoption paperwork on the closest student's desk and flings herself at Harry, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug with tears running down her face. When Harry returns the hug with a huge grin and his own eyes starting to water, Dorothea can't contain herself any longer.

She stands as well, clapping, tears on her cheeks, and says, "Welcome to my class, Harry Granger."


End file.
